


The Amazing Dead-Lights or: How Eddie Kaspbrak got his superhero on

by veterani



Category: IT (2017), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King, KING Stephen - Works
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M, Superheroes, multi-chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-19 23:10:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20665361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veterani/pseuds/veterani
Summary: Deadlights. Who names a fucking superhero Deadlights?-Eddie Kaspbrak wakes up one day with superpowers. He's not thrilled, but he gets on with it.And then he gets his first supervillain. And then he saves a loudmouth comedian from being run over. And then he has to save the city but like, properly this time. All while dealing with an irritating ex-wife and excessive hypochondria. What's a superhero to do?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> first fic i've written in nearly five years lol. unbeatd, possibly a bit oc, more chapters coming up as and when.

The one thing Eddie Kaspbrak did not want to be was a superhero.

Nope, nada, not him, no thanks, please move back, you’re covered in germs, and why are you asking me this kind of stuff anyway?

As a kid he’d loved superheroes. Really loved them, like other kids loved their moms and their crushes and mucking about. Spent all his time reading comics and playing video games with and without his limited band of friends, and superheroes had been the main thing that’d got him through sticky, painful adolescence.

But they were fictional. Eddie wanted to keep it that way. If they were real it’d be too much.

So he grew up and became a risk analyst, married an unsuitable woman, and divorced her because she was like his mom and he’d had enough of that. He put all the comics into mylar bags and into the back of his closet, taking them out when he was drunk and nostalgic.

Which meant it was a bit of a shock when he woke up one morning stuck to the ceiling. Properly stuck, face pressed into the paint and his limbs immovable until panic shoved him back onto his bed with a thump. Then he sort of lay there for a while, eyes unfocused, trying to remember where his inhaler was because he could feel a panic attack coming on and his breath was getting shorter and shorter and shorter and that was _not good_.

It all spiralled from there, really. One day Eddie was a normal, depressed, hypochondriac of a forty year old, and the next day he could stick to walls and levitate and shoot random pulses of energy like a shit merger of every superhero he’d loved as a child. It was a bit of a shock. For a few days he wasn’t really sure how to cope. He thought about ringing Bill, Ben, Bev, Stan, Mike- but who’d believe him? He flicked through tv channels using the power of his mind and used his inhaler very frequently even when he discovered that he didn’t really need it anymore. Fucking typical, he thought, half focusing on an asshole comedian telling really shitty jokes about masturbation, that his health problems had to evaporate now, and not, like, when he was pissed because of them as a kid.

It eventually got the point where he looked up Spandex on the internet and ordered himself a costume off a terrible fetish site and decided that he might as well use these powers, really, because if anything could avert risk, so to speak, it was being a superhero. Obviously, it increased the risk to himself, as a voice that sounded like his mother kept reminding him. But it would also help to avert the risk of everyone else and wasn’t that kind of what he’d been doing for fifteen years anyway?

So he took to the streets, got terrified out of his mind, and then got used to it. The city got used to it too, and the newspapers gave him the crappiest name imaginable, to the extent that Eddie thought about marching down there and giving them a piece of his mind.

Deadlights. Who names a fucking superhero Deadlights? What, cause he could shoot energy out of his hands and it knocked people out? He didn’t even fucking kill anyone, for God’s sake.

But the name stuck, and so did being a superhero.

And so did coming home late at night and wiping blood off of dark blue spandex and putting on terrible late-night comedy and falling asleep to the sound of poorly written jokes. It was fulfilling, and it was fun, and it was lonely.

And it looked like it was going to be the rest of his life.

And then Pennywise showed up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Who are you, Macaulay Culkin?

Pennywise. Weird name.

At first it just seemed like tags appearing on the walls of the city. Eddie’s city, he’d come to think of it, started to feel stupidly protective of it. his home, not just where he had his flat and where Myra would ring him up to try and persuade him to un-divorce, as it were. Just tags that said ‘Pennywise is comin’ to get ya’. People tweeted about it; it turned up on a ‘graffitiofderry’ Instagram account. Eddie would smile when he saw it while fighting off a robber, because it was Derry’s. even the other Losers were mentioning it when they rang up.

‘d-do they know who it i-is yet?’ Bill would ask.

‘no,’ Bev said, ‘they think it’s the same guy who did all the “Boogaloo” ones though.’

‘Boogaloo? What the hell is Boogaloo?’ Eddie asked, trying to pull on the spandex trousers whilst speaking. He really should have washed it more recently, his palms were starting to sweat just thinking about the sweat germs on it, but he gritted his teeth and pulled it back on. Disgusting.

‘There was that teen who did like weird drawings of these disco dancers and they called him Mr Boogaloo? Literally it was all local news went on about for weeks.’

‘Oh, I wasn’t in.’ He hadn’t been; he’d been dealing with a kid who’d been trying to poision the water supply, because that was just the kind of bullshit that happened in his life now.

So that was that; Pennywise was Mr Boogaloo part 2, and Eddie was dealing with too many things to think about why you’d choose a name like Pennywise to tag your stuff with when you were like, 20 or something.

And then people started going missing. Slowly, at first, then quickly, all at once, people disappearing off the streets weekly, daily, then it seemed like every hour. At first Eddie didn't see it, being too busy doing other things. Which was very very bad, considering he was meant to be the city’s superhero. He tossed and turned for months afterwards because of it, to the extent that he got a kick in his side and a muffled ‘I can hear you thinking, asshat, turn it off’- but we’ll get to that.

The first time he noticed it, really noticed it, is when he was in his office, and Moira didnt come in. Eddie liked Moira: she was dark haired and funny, but dedicated to her work and not afraid to show it. He looked round all day, but no Moira. Next day: no Moira. And the day after, and the day after, to the extent that it started to get weird. People got shifty. Moira’s name turned up on the news and they all huddled round Mark’s computer trying to get a look. Editorials came up asking where Deadlights is: why isn’t he doing anything?

I’m not Superman, Eddie thought. And then he realised that he sort of was, wasn’t he? Shit.

At home that night, he started reading up on the reports. There didn’t seem to be a pattern: not in age or gender, occupation or location. People just stepped out of view and disappeared. Timing, though. There was something about the timing.

Eddie put on the spandex and wandered the streets at 9pm. On a Friday night. People on the streets, out with friends, starting to get drunk. Not Eddie’s scene, really. Think of all the things that could happen to you drunk.

He kept to the shadows: people tend to stare when they saw a 5’9 man dressed like a large blue dildo. Hey, he didn’t come up with the analogy: that was a guy on Twitter. Eddie wasn’t pleased.

Levitating a bit off the roof, he scanned the area. People looked fine- a little drunk, but happy. Then in the distance there was the squeal of tyres, a lot of shouting, someone stumbling into the street and Eddie dived and:

Pushed a man out of the way of a car.

Shit, he thought, shit shit shit. Acting on instinct: he didn't normally do it, preferred to think things through, even when he’s doing this. He stood there hyperventilating like he didn't need to anymore for about a minute before he registered the man in front of him. Who was looking at him like he couldn't quite believe what was happening, and like he wanted to burst out laughing at the same time.

‘What?’ Eddie asked tetchily.

‘Nothing,’ replied the guy, a shit-eating grin starting to work it’s way out. ‘You really do look like a dildo’

‘What?’ Eddie repeated louder. The man’s eyes were a bit glassy behind overlarge glasses, definitely a bit pissed, but he was grinning still and it was attractive. Oddly attractive. Really, the man had just insulted him par excellence and here Eddie was, noting that the glasses kind of suit him, and so did the stubble, and so did his hair.

‘That,’ the guy said as he gestures down at Eddie’s body, ‘it does kind of look like a dildo, don’t you think? Jesus.’

‘Hey! It’s difficult to, y’know, come up with a costume. and you just look like an dick. Who wanders into the road like that?’

‘An dick, clearly,’ he didn't sound insulted. He was still smiling. Someone shouted across the road at him. ‘Anyway- I need to get going, y’know. sorry. My friends are waiting for me.’

‘Richie!’ someone shouted again.

Eddie huffed despite himself.

‘Richie? Who calls themselves Richie in like, 2016?’

‘Me, duh. Obviously.’

‘Who are you, Macaulay Culkin?’

The guy (Richie) stared blankly.

‘Richie Rich? Macaulay Culkin? It’s a classic film, man.’

Richie laughed again. Such a stupid laugh. Endearing, though. Eddie wanted to hit himself. God, endearing- what was he, 12?

‘Okay. Well, thanks dude.’ Richie rubbed the back of his head. ‘Um- see you round?’

Eddie blanched. ‘Um, no? Probably not?’

Richie rolled his eyes and walked away.

‘Watch out for cars!’ Eddie shouted, and he heard Richie snort, and he felt pleased.

For some reason that he didn't really want to go into.

He checked his watch. Past 9 o’clock and the streets were getting quieter. Eddie decided to pack it in, have one last look round and head home. He flew over the city, looking down, searching. Nothing. Maybe that’s- what is that? It can’t be anything, can it. It’s his mind, playing tricks.

You don’t get clowns in the centre of Derry.

Back at home, he hung up the costume and got himself a glass of water. Flipped on cable. It’s the comedy channel, like it always is when he wanted to get to sleep. There was something about shitty comedy that felt surprisingly soothing. His head started to droop; and then a familiar, smirking voice hit his ears:

‘Why does every superhero look like some sort of sex toy? I mean-‘

Well. Well. How did he not recognise him? He’d seen the guy enough times.

There, staring out of the screen, was Richie the near-car-crash-casualty.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie wondered when his life had become some kind of Saturday kids show special.

It played on his mind the next day. Eddie had never saved a celebrity before- not that you could really call him a celebrity. Eddie had, guiltily, searched him online, discovering only one slightly dodgy Netflix special and a few clips. He wasn’t funny, so much, but he had charisma and was very good at holding an audience. Eddie didn’t laugh, but he didn’t look away.

He went into work though, sticking the blue spandex into his rucksack, and tried not to think about Richie, or the fact that Moira still wasn’t in, or Myra’s thirteen missed calls on his mobile. He tried to work through a particularly dull case centring on a warehouse that had transferred hands when Mike from the next office shouted:

‘What the fuck is that?’

The whole office rushed to the window. There, floating halfway in the air on a string of red balloons, was someone dressed in a clown outfit. He wasn’t really doing anything- just floating, smiling, clutching the balloons. And then he locked eyes with Eddie. And grinned.

Eddie blanched. The clown waved. Then it suddenly dropped onto the street.

Everyone reeled. Eddie looked over at his backpack, scowled, cursed his stupid bloody life, and grabbed it.

\--

The clown is really odd looking, and Eddie can say that, because he’s the one wearing, y’know. what he’s wearing. He’s not proud.

But this clown doesn’t look like he’s in a costume- it looks like it’s all he is. A towering clown, something unworldly. Eddie thought about the Joker, grimaced, and tried to stifle the panic clawing at his gut. They just sort of stood staring at each other, waiting for someone to make the first move.

What kind of superhero doesn’t make the first move against the villain? Eddie thought. There was a crowd starting to gather. No tall, odd looking men in there- not the one he was looking for, anyway. Eddie felt somewhat disappointed.

There was a moment of silence, like the calm before the storm. Whereupon the clown stuck a talon out into the crowd, piercing a young woman in the gut.

People started screaming. For a second Eddie thought that he started screaming. Holy crap, that was a lot of blood. He’d never seen someone die before. Derry wasn’t that kind of city- burglaries, hold-ups, sure, but graphic full on murder? Instantly Eddie tried one of his go-to tactics, sending out a pulse into the clown’s sternum. It chuckled at him, whipped the talon back, and tried to get Eddie with it. Eddie jumped back, missing the talon by a tiny margin, and sent out a pulse again.

‘Can’t catch me, can you, Mr D-ead-l-ights!’ the clown giggled, and strove forward again, hitting someone else in the crowd.

‘I’m going to try,’ Eddie replied, firing another beam and running towards it. Crappy comeback, he thought, but he’d just seen two people brutally murdered, so he could be forgiven.

The clown let out a maniacal laugh, and Eddie wondered when his life had become some kind of Saturday kids show special.

The talon was flinging its way towards someone again, so Eddie leapt in the air, fired the beam, and just managed to glance the- thing on it’s side. It let out a terrible shriek, which turned into a laugh, and it pulled itself right up into the air and pressed itself against Eddie, who squawked like a little kid.

‘Don’t get too clever, Eddie-deadie.’

Upon which it evaporated into thin air.

Eddie just sort of froze. It knew his name. How the- he’d been so careful. So careful. He glanced down at the people on the street. Ambulance crews were crowding round the injured, as were most of the onlookers. A couple of people were looking up at him. One person was. Dark hair and glasses.

They made eye contact for a second.

Eddie nodded.

Richie nodded back.

That searing fear of the thing saying his name came back into his throat like acid reflex and he pushed himself off, wanting to go home. He needed to regroup. Recalculate.

And work out what that fucking thing was.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still don't know how long this will be, apologies, but probably no more than ten chapters. there is more reddie coming up, promise :)

There was chaos playing out on the news, and all Eddie could do was hole up trying not to think about it. He pulled his knees up on the couch and sat there, the blood of that woman still coating his costume. He wanted to reach for his inhaler- knew he probably shouldn’t- just sort of sat there trying to count himself down.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Who in the hell would think that he of all people could be- y’know- a superhero? and now somehow someone knew who he was. And if they knew his name then they could easily learn his address and his co-workers and maybe that was why Moira was missing and it was too much.

Eddie wanted to crawl under his sheets and never come back up. Barely noticing, he got up from the sofa and the too loud TV and walked into the bedroom. Shit. Blood. Getting under the sheets like that was out of the question. Quickly he unzipped the outfit and while trying not to look at it just managed to get it into the wastebin. He ducked under the shower and let out a huge sigh, turning the dial up to boiling hot. Started to think.

How can you fuck up so much when you can literally fly? He itched to chuck the whole enterprise in the bin and clean. Nothing can get to you if you’re clean.

Unhealthy behaviours, whispered a voice that sounded like Eddie’s therapist. You’ve got to move forward.

His wife had stopped him seeing her. ‘She’s trying to change you,’ Myra had said, smiling at him in that sickly sweet way that made ants run under his skin.

Well, he thought, at least he’d moved forward from that. This though? This time Eddie had got people killed- real people. People with lives and families and fears like him. Maybe he deserved the name.

But that thing. That thing, whatever it was, would come back. It had basically promised him it would. Which meant that more people could get hurt if Eddie didn’t pull himself together and think. He was good at thinking. Analysing risks. He thought.

When had the clown first appeared, properly? In the middle of Derry in the middle of the working day. Maximum exposure, maximum damage. For both of them.

Eddie blinked again. Both of them. Did that- was it trying to- the last time he’d seen it after all had been when he was flying over and it looked at him and it winked but he hadn’t really registered it at the time because of trying to remember how that guy looked and how he snorted-

Oh. Oh.

And who had he seen in the crowd again, when the thing (Pennywise, his brain supplied, call it by it’s name) was above him?

There had to be a connection. After all, the guy was obsessed with Eddie wasn’t he? Well, not obsessed like Eddie was with the placement of his pills- don’t ask, he was working on it- but he mentioned him in his standup, and tweeted about him. All trying to get his attention. Talking like a Trashmouth to lure him in. It was worth investigating, at any rate.

Eddie flipped off the shower, dried off and grabbed his oldest, most comfortable sweatpants and t-shirt. Walking back into the living room, he opened his laptop and searched for ‘Richie Tozier Comedian’. Lists of articles sprang up- people saying he was shit (agreed), people saying he was good (no), people saying he was edgy and original (big fat fucking no). Nothing useful. Eddie wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Except-

There we go.

‘Richie Tozier Live! @ComedyStoreDerry’. That night. He clicked on the link. Not cancelled, despite what had happened. The news was calling it a terrorist attack. Eddie scoffed. Who sees a floating clown skewering people and calls that a terrorist?

They were also slaughtering him for not doing enough.

‘Where’s Deadlights when we actually need him?’ asked the female pundit, rolling her eyes at footage of Eddie stopping a small-store robbery. ‘Not acting against someone when they’re right in front of his eyes. Despicable.’

For what it was worth, Eddie agreed. He made a note on his phone of the location of the comedy club and the time the guy was on. He was going to find out what was going on. Even if it killed him.

Even if he had to spend three hours rubbing blood stains out of an impractical costume, he’d find out what they were up to.

And he’d stop it.

He had to.


End file.
